


The Proof

by kaijuvenom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: "Welp Whatever Here's An Ending", Ambiguous/Open Ending, And Then I Just Went, Attempted Murder, Believe It Or Not This Was Supposed To Be A Classic Florist/Tattoo Artist AU, But Sacrifices Must Be Made, Implied/Referenced Desecration of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Torture, Isabella (mentioned) - Freeform, Kristen Kringle (mentioned) - Freeform, M/M, Mostly Because I Got Tired And Decided It Was Over, Partially A Character Study, Serial Killer Ed, So Sorry Lucius Fox I Love You, Tagged Graphic Depictions of Violence Just in Case, This Entire Thing Is Based Off A Jill Tracy Album, but it got out of hand, but it's good I promise, ed is a florist, no i do not take constructive criticism, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: Serial killers aren’t uncommon in Gotham, but usually they’re caught after long enough. The riddle killer is an exception to that; they’ve been killing people for five years now, with absolutely no leads. The only evidence the riddler killer leaves is what they want found. But this mysterious killer must be human, they must have some sort of emotion, some weakness. Or at least a psyche that can be broken if it isn’t already.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98





	1. I Want to Believe in Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely finished, so there won't be any ambiguously given dates and times for chapter updates. It'll update once a week for the next five weeks. I promise im not lying this time i really will update its done i swear wait where are you goin-

Ed tended to put all his efforts into one thing, resulting in not much variation for him, as well as the problem of only knowing how to do those exact things and nothing else, wanting to repeat them over and over again to recapture the feelings. Because of this, a lot of his ‘firsts’ happened at the same time, with the same person, much faster than they probably should. Take Miss Kringle, for example. She was his first crush, first love, first date, first relationship, first to sleep with… first kill. And he found himself repeating that process over and over again, wondering if it would always be the same, if the result would be different, if… 

He’d read once that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, and he wasn’t about to contest that point. 

Twenty-four people. Nine women and fifteen men. Twenty-four times Ed had repeated the process, twenty-four names he couldn’t remember and faces he couldn’t forget. 

Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

The method was always the same, he’d find someone whom he found attractive, intelligent, had similar interests to him or some other quality he found admirable, he’d go on a date with them, maybe two, and he’d take them home, or he’d go home with them, they’d sometimes sleep together, sometimes kiss at the front step, but somehow, they’d always end up inside. With Ed’s hands around their throat until they stopped breathing. 

The same thing over and over again.

Miss Kringle had been an accident. Sort of. Consciously, Ed had never wanted to hurt her, but somehow that wasn’t what happened when he was crushing her windpipe between his fingers, he hadn’t exactly realized what he’d been doing. 

Expecting a different result. 

Every time since, Edward had known what he was doing, it had become _exhilarating,_ in the same way a near-death experience gives you a rush of adrenaline. He didn’t _like_ it, he didn’t actively seek out these people with the intention to kill them, but it was what happened. A fact of life. Something took over him, like a hidden side that only got stronger the more Ed tried to fight against it.

Density equals mass divided by volume. Leaves fall from the trees in Autumn. Pi is an infinite number. There are thirty days in June. The derivative of a function is equal to the slope equation of its tangent line. Ed kills everyone he tries to date. The Earth revolves around the-

“Mister Nashton.” 

The world flew back into focus, bringing with it a thumping noise Ed took too long to realize was his heartbeat. 

“Shows on our reports we’ve brought you in here for questioning on the riddle killer twice now.”

Ed blinked once, registering that he was being spoken to. He leaned back in the chair so he could actually see the man towering above him and thumbing through some paperwork in a manilla file.

“Well, your reports would be wrong.” He had a vague idea of this man’s name, Gordon something or another, some sort of detective, he’d listened in on an interview Ed had given a while ago. 

Gordon pulled up a chair across from him, sitting down. Ed cringed at the metal-against-metal screeching but didn’t say anything else.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“The first time, I came in on my own accord. I was a friend of the victim.” He didn’t like thinking about any of his murders, but especially not that one. Specifically because he hadn’t been the one to kill—

“Lucius Fox, right?”

“And it wasn’t the riddle killer, it was someone else. You’re wrong on both accounts.” 

The detective eyed him with the same look Ed knew he’d gotten last time for saying that, and of course, Jim’s disbelief of that made perfect sense. Ed left a calling card at each of his crime scenes, other than the riddles he made up and placed in his victims’ skulls, which the GCPD had made public knowledge. He left a green question mark somewhere in the place he dumped the body (or whatever remained of it). Sometimes it was drawn on a scrap of paper, ripped out of a magazine, made of clay or plastic, sometimes shaped out of garbage he’d found, but it was always there, always hidden, and there had been a green question mark hidden in Lucius Fox’s body. 

There were many things Ed wasn’t sure about in his life, but the one thing he thought he knew was that he hadn’t killed Lucius. He’d done the same thing over and over again and gotten a different result with him. They’d dated for three months and four days before he was killed. 

He’d gone to the GCPD as soon as Lucius’ body had been discovered because he’d _known_ he’d had nothing to do with it. He wouldn’t do that to Lucius. He always remembered who he killed, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the night Lucius had died. He _couldn’t_ have done it. He wouldn’t have. Not that he’d ever rationally expected his insistence that Lucius had been killed by someone else could ever be backed up by proof. The only way to prove Lucius was killed by someone pretending to be the riddle killer was by admitting he was the riddle killer. Ed had very nearly done that, but ultimately decided against it. He couldn’t seek revenge on his boyfriend’s killer from Arkham Asylum. 

“Be that as it may, we aren’t here to talk about Lucius Fox, Edward. Can I call you Edward?” His tone made it clear it wasn’t a question, so Ed shrugged in response.

“I know we aren’t. We’re here to talk about Isabelle.”

“Isabella,” Gordon corrected.

“Oh.”

“How did you know her?” 

Ed shifted on his chair, leaning far down enough that his chin was nearly level with the table. “I met her while I was shopping for wine. She told me a riddle.”

“A riddle?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What was the riddle?” He asked, scribbling something in his file. 

Ed remembered it perfectly, but he wasn’t going to say it. “Something… about time. Losing it and regaining it, I don’t know.”

“And then what happened?”

“And then I selected my bottle of wine and politely excused myself because I found her weird. Not to mention the fact that riddles make me a bit paranoid. After what happened to my- to Fo- Lucius.” Ed may have slipped up a bit on what to call Lucius, but at least he had his Isabelle story down well enough. 

“But she didn’t buy anything at the store, she never spoke to the cashier,” Gordon said, flipping through the reports before looking back at Ed.

“No. I remember she followed me outside, and kept trying to strike up a conversation while I was waiting for a taxi. She mentioned she was a librarian, she talked a lot about books and not much else.” 

“Ed, do you realize you may have been the last person to see Isabella alive?”

The detective received a cold glare for that comment. “The last person to see her alive would have been the riddle killer,” Ed said carefully. Gordon’s silence wasn’t reassuring.

“Detective, am I a suspect? You do know that you’re required by law to tell me if I am.” 

“Do we have any reason to pin you as a suspect?”

Ed bit the inside of his lip, standing up. “No, you don’t. And I don’t appreciate being interrogated like this. I came here willingly trying to help. I can leave any time.”

Gordon held his hands up placatingly. “Fine. You aren’t a suspect, but you are our only witness.” He gestured for Ed to sit back down. “Can you tell me what time you met Isabella?”

Crossing his arms, Ed sat down again. “Sometime after eight but before eight-thirty. I had somewhere to be at eight-thirty and got there right on time, it was about ten minutes away from the shop I was at. So I would say I met her at eight-ten or so, we talked until eight-twenty.”

The detective nodded, clicking his pen a couple times before writing something. “And did she mention she was going anywhere? Meeting anyone?”

Ed shook his head. “Like I said, she talked about books.” 

Gordon proceeded to press Ed some more, asking him circular questions like he was trying to catch him in a lie, but Ed got out of the questioning unscathed. He still had a sinking suspicion that he was a suspect, but he didn’t question it again, glad to _finally_ be out of that hellhole police station. 

He decided to walk back to his flower shop, lost in thought, wondering when detective Gordon would call him back in for another interview (interrogation). There was no one immediately visible inside when he entered his shop, save for a tall, bulky man standing with arms crossed near the door. Probably security for whoever the customer was, that wasn’t too uncommon, especially lately with the war between the crime families. Ed didn’t pay much attention to the news, but he knew enough to understand why going outside almost always resulted in witnessing a drive-by. 

Ed didn’t know much about flowers or plants in general, but he enjoyed them, aesthetically speaking. He could arrange them in pretty ways, and that was really all he needed to do. He had hired someone to take care of his plants so he wouldn’t need to. 

“Excuse me,” A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, and he moved to the side on instinct, glancing at the person who’d spoken. 

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again. 

“Of- of course, I’m sorry, I- are you alright?” For five seconds, Ed had forgotten his own damn name, because this man with fluffy black hair and freckles and long eyelashes and the most stunning black and purple suit Ed had ever seen had thoroughly bamboozled him. Then he proceeded to forget everything else he knew because this man looked like he had been crying.

Doing the same thing. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine- getting flowers for my mother’s grave.” The man wiped his eyes and offered Ed a small smile that wasn’t returned. 

“Oh. I’m so sorry. Would you- do you need any help selecting flowers?” Ed felt awkward, swallowing and trying to summon his confidence.

The man smiled more genuinely this time, extending a hand to shake, which Ed accepted. “I wanted to get her lilies, they’re her favorites. But I didn’t realize there were so many varieties.”

Over.

“I have more in the back room, if you’d like to see. I’m Edward, by the way. The owner.” 

“Oswald, a pleasure to meet you,” the man replied, following him to the back door and into the storage room. 

And over.

“What’s your mother’s favorite color?” He asked, smiling gently and steering Oswald towards the lilies with a hand on his back. 

“Pink. Light pink.”

Ed nodded, opening the door to one of his floral fridges and pulling out seven light pink lilies. He examined them for a second, before pulling out five dark purple lilies as well. 

“Would you like a bouquet or a round arrangement? You could also get a vase, but I don’t recommend those for… placing on the ground.”

“I- I don’t know,” Oswald said after a second of silence. 

“A round arrangement, then. I prefer those, they last longer.” Ed held up a finger to signal for Oswald to wait before coming back and beginning to assemble the arrangement, taking extra care and concentration with this one. He picked up a few filler flowers in greens and light blues, _hmm_ ing to himself as he attempted to make it the best possible arrangement.

And over.

“And… done.” Ed made a little ‘ta-da’ motion, watching Oswald’s reaction expectantly. 

“Wow.” He looked up at Ed’s face. “It’s amazing watching you work. And your work is amazing. Um-” he paused, straightening up and reaching in his suit pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

Ed shook his head, placing his hand on Oswald’s arm to prevent him from getting his wallet. “Nothing. It was my pleasure.”

And over.

“No, really, I insist, I-” Oswald’s protests were interrupted by the burly man Ed had seen outside. 

“Sorry boss, but we should leave. Got a call from…” he trailed off, glancing at Ed and then back at Oswald. “It’s urgent.”

Oswald huffed out a sigh, reaching for the floral arrangement before the man cleared his throat again, glancing at his cellphone screen. “ _What_?” Oswald asked snappily.

“We won’t have time to take those, it’s-” another pointed glance at Ed and exaggerated sigh from Oswald. He looked he was about to throw himself into a tangent when Ed intervened.

“I’ll keep them here for you. You can come back for them later today,” He reassured him, opening the floral fridge and carefully placing the arrangement on the only available shelf space. He plucked a light pink rose out of a bucket next to where he’d set the arrangement and spun around, holding the rose out to Oswald. “Come back when you have time. I’ll be here. With the flowers.” 

He took the rose hesitantly, admiring it for a few seconds before placing it in his breast pocket. “Thank you, Edward. I’ll be back before you know it.” He gave Ed a kind and hesitant smile, and he was gone, out of the shop and taking all that mysterious personality with him.

And over again.


	2. I’m Still Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ivy appears for comedic relief and ‘emotional support’

He was intriguing. Highly intriguing. And more than a little dangerous. Ed had always liked dangerous things. He idly spun a dying black lily around and around in his fingers, staring at it like he was trying to burn it with his retinas. Oswald had been gone for two hours. He had no idea how long it would be until he would come back, if he would even be back today.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The voice of his botanist, Ivy Pepper, echoed as she entered the back room, clicking the door shut behind her, startling him out of his staring contest with the flower.

“I’d like to think they’re worth more than that,” Edward said, before going back to spinning the flower.

“What’s up, Ed?” She tapped his shoulder, sitting at the stool across the counter from him, tapping her nails against the small amount of counter that was available space, the rest being covered in flower cuttings and various tools.

“I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?”

And expecting different results.

Ivy tilted her head, plucking the lily from Ed’s fingers and setting it on the counter. “Did you meet someone?”

“I may have.”

The smile Ivy gave him made him almost regret telling her. He rarely told her about the people he met anymore, not after what had happened to Lucius, so she had probably assumed Ed hadn’t dated anyone since him.

He hadn’t, not really. He’d gone on dates, kissed people at their doorsteps, killed them in their apartments, and that wasn’t something he could go about telling Ivy, even if she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.

“And?” She prompted, looking at him expectantly.

“I don’t- I don’t want to jinx it,” Ed finally said, shaking his head. “I’ve only just met him. He came in today, and I… felt something.”

“Felt something… in your pants?”

Ed made a noise somewhere between a choke and a gasp, like an old Southern lady clutching her pearls and exclaiming, Jezebel!

“No!” He smacked her arm and then smacked it again when she laughed at him, which only made her laugh harder.

“I’m firing you,” Ed muttered, crossing his arms.

“Good luck finding someone who’ll put up with you at the pay grade I have,” Ivy said, still snickering.

“Don’t you have plants to feed?”

Ivy raised her hands, spinning around on her stool and heading to the greenhouse. “Kids these days. Always so sensitive.”

“You’re younger than me…” Ed’s argument trailed off as he heard the bell at the front door of the shop rang, signaling someone entering.

“Hello, welcome to- Oswald!” Ed wasn’t able to hide his excitement at Oswald’s reappearance in his shop and he blushed at his own enthusiasm, hiding it by turning away to pull Oswald’s floral arrangement out of the fridge.

“Fancy seeing you here, Edward,” he said, running a hand through his hair, which was significantly less spiked up than it had been earlier. His entire demeanor looked a lot more disheveled, and- was that blood on his coat? Probably, not that Ed was one to judge. The light pink rose was still in his breast pocket, if not a bit worse for wear than it had been earlier.

Ed offered him a smile, holding out the arrangement for Oswald to take. “And please, you don’t need to pay.”

Oswald sighed in defeat, choosing to let Ed win this one apparently, as he took the arrangement, holding it carefully. “Thank you, Edward.” Ed liked the way Oswald said his name.

“I- um- you’re welcome. Oswald.” He swallowed. “I hope- I hope you’ll come back. Whenever you want. Um.” Ed usually wasn’t this awkward when it came to meeting new people, he tended to let his confident side take over in those situations, but this time it had decided to stay inconveniently quiet.

“Um, here.” He dived over to his counter, digging around for his business card and thrusting it into Oswald’s free hand. “If you need anything, you can- you can call me, call here, I mean, and I can- if you need- any more flowers.” Ed decided at that point to shut up, he was only digging himself into a hole of awkwardness. It was likely not appropriate to flirt with men who came into your flower shop to buy flowers to lay on his mother’s grave.

“Thank you,” Oswald repeated, slipping the card in his pocket.

Ed nodded, ducking his head down and shifting on his heels. “I hope I’ll hear from you.” And then he was rushing back to the back room and slamming the door shut behind him, startling Ivy. She poked her head out of the greenhouse, holding a plant like it was a baby and tilting her head at Ed in confusion.

Ed took a deep breath, leaning back against the door and purposefully looking away from Ivy.

“What happened?” She was petting the plant’s leaves, humming to it softly as she spoke to Ed.

Ed shook his head, pushing himself off the door and sighing. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

Insanity. The definition of insanity.

His fingers shook as he sat back at his table, getting back to work finally, although he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing. He didn’t even notice as Ivy made a skeptical face at him before shrugging and heading back in the greenhouse.

“The definition of insanity, Eddie.”

The voice in Ed’s head echoed, and he flinched, trying to push it away, but it only got louder.

“You’re doing it again. Doing it over and over again.”

Ed cringed, shaking his head. He’d rather not talk to his insanity if he didn’t have to.

“And expecting a different result. Expecting me to do something different.” The voice took the solid form of a mirrored version of Ed in front of him, leaning forward and grinning.

“You did something different with Lucius,” Ed said softly, staring resolutely down at the flower vase.

“Did I?”

“I didn’t kill Lucius!” Ed snapped, crushing the stem of a filler flower he’d been holding.

“Then who did, Eddie?”

Tears pricked at the edges of Ed’s eyes, and he threw the twisted stem at the hallucination, making it vanish. “I didn’t.”

“That isn’t what I asked. If you didn’t kill him, who did?”

Ed took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and failing. “Ivy!” He called, abruptly standing up and nearly knocking the stool over. Ivy popped her head out of the greenhouse, blinking.

“What’s up?”

“I- I’m going home early. Would you mind staying out here and taking care of any customers?” The way Ed said that didn’t make it sound like a question, and he was leaving before Ivy could even respond.

“Oh… sure,” she said, “are you okay, or…?” Ed was gone before she could finish her question. She shrugged, fairly used to Ed’s early departures and jumpy behaviors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t know how many of the same people reading this fic are also reading my other in progress (and unfinished) Gotham fic, but to give you an update: my entire family has the flu except me and I feel like the end is near. Secondly, school is already absolutely kicking my as do it may be a very long time before I can finish the next chapter or that fic.


	3. For the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivy is a sweet dumb babey, Ed may or may not have ordered chinese takeout, and Oswald is absolutely not concerned for his safety even though he probably should be.

Ed didn’t come back to his shop the next day, and, again, Ivy wasn’t too concerned. Ed would be back soon, either he’d come in late tonight or sometime tomorrow, this was normal for him. 

Ivy took a few orders for bouquets and helped some customers around, although spent most of her time in the greenhouse in the back. The phone rang sometime in the middle of the afternoon, and Ivy answered it without thinking too much about it. 

“ _Is- is Edward there? This is Oswald.”_

“Uh- no, this is Ivy.” She frowned to herself, and then jumped excitedly, remembering Ed had said he’d met someone. “You’re the new boy!” 

“ _The… new boy?_ ” Oswald’s confusion and mild offense were evident, but Ivy wasn’t too observant. 

“Mmhm. Ed mentioned you. Great, you know?” Ivy hooked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she watered one of Ed’s favorite plants. 

“ _What’s great?_ ” Oswald was particularly disinterested in what Ivy was saying, he just wanted to talk to Ed. “ _Is Ed there_?” Again, Oswald’s question wasn’t answered.

“Ed hasn’t had someone in a long while, you know? Not since his last boyfriend got riddled.” 

“ _Got… riddled?_ ”

Ivy picked up her trimmers, deadheading the stalks of bright green flowers as she nodded. “Yeah. Ya know, the riddle killer got him. He’s been angsty about it for like five months. Great that he’s finally met someone else.” 

“ _Yes, well… is he-_ ” Oswald was cut off by Ivy, who had stopped listening to him in favor of talking at Oswald for as long as she could, she just needed social interaction. 

“He was a scientist, you know. Worked for Wayne Enterprises. Ed really had a thing for him, thought he was all that and a bag of chips. They only dated for a month, but _damn._ Ed falls fast, and Ed falls hard. You better be ready for him to go fast.”

“ _I’m sorry, wha-”_

“After like two weeks, Lucius—that was the boyfriend—was practically living at Ed’s apartment.” Ivy gave the flowers a little kiss before moving onto some more flowers. “I mean, when they weren’t, you know, in Ed’s apartment, Lucius was always here. Nice guy. Little quiet. Awkward. A lot like Ed, if you think about it. Sucked what happened to him.”

_“Okay, yes, that’s nice to know, but is Ed-”_

“You know, I was the one who found his body. All cut up in the floral fridge, bunch of my hedge clippers and wires sticking out of his body. I called Ed as soon as I found it, in hindsight, I realize may or may not have been an awful idea, because he came down before the police did, and that fucked him up. Kept insisting it wasn’t the riddle killer who did it, even though he was killed the same way, strangled with nothing but bare hands, and his body was mutilated afterwards. And you know, the whole thing with finding a riddle written on a scrap of paper in his skull. Everything trademark of the riddle killer, but Ed would _not_ believe it.”

“ _That’s- that’s great. Now, can I_ please _talk to Ed_?” 

“Oh, Ed isn’t here.”

“ _Are you- are you serious?”_

“Hang on, I can transfer you to his apartment.” Ivy removed the phone from her shoulder and hung it back up on the wall before pushing a few buttons.

“ _Wait, no, I-”_

“In case you need flowers, his favorites are bells of Ireland,” and then Ivy had hung up the phone and hit the button to transfer Oswald to Ed’s home phone, completely oblivious to Oswald’s protests. 

The sound of his phone ringing made Ed jump violently, he’d been staring out his apartment window, directly into the green neon lights. His other-self hadn’t shut up all night, and it had become increasingly harder to ignore him. Ed picked up the phone almost immediately, not bothering to consider who it might be or why they’d be calling. 

“Hello?”

_“Edward? It’s Oswald. I apologize for this, I’d called your shop and a woman answered, she didn’t-”_

Ed waved his hand, then realized Oswald couldn’t see that and cleared his throat. “It’s fine, that’s just Ivy. She’s my botanist, and she can be a bit…”

_“Oversharing?”_ Oswald offered with a chuckle.

“That’s one way to put it. I hope she didn’t talk your ear off.” 

“ _Well, I can still hear you, so no, not yet.”_

Ed laughed, shaking his head. “You wait.” He paused, reaching to his coffee table and grabbing a notebook and pen in case Oswald was calling to place another order for an arrangement. “Were you calling to ask for a flower order?” 

_“Oh. I- no. No, I wasn’t. I was calling because I would… like to see you again. And I was wondering if you-”_

“Yes! I’d love to!” Ed’s other-self rolled his eyes so exaggeratedly Ed wanted to snap that his eyes would get stuck in the back of his head if he kept that up. “I mean… please, finish whatever you were going to say. Sorry.” 

Oswald chuckled again, and the sound made Ed’s heart skip several beats. Metaphorically, of course, it would be concerning if his heart actually skipped any beats. He checked his pulse on his wrist, to make sure his heart was, in fact, beating properly. It was. 

_“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. I know it’s last minute, but I’m sure I’d be able to scare up a table for us somewhere nice.”_

Had Ed’s heart actually stopped beating? Maybe. Maybe he was dead because he was finding it exceedingly difficult to form words at the moment. Rather odd, considering he’d already technically answered this question before it had even been posed.

_“Ed?”_

“Oh! Oh, yes, I- that would be nice. Very nice.” 

_“Should I pick you up at your place, then? Say, eight o’clock?”_

For a second, Ed entertained the possibility of saying no, of changing his mind. He had the smallest, quickest moment of clarity before it was shadowed over by pure, innocent, hope. He was going to do the same damn thing again, and he was going to expect a different result. As he always did. At least he was self-aware about his insanity. It was hard not to be when his insanity was literally staring him right in the face and mocking him for being so lovestruck. 

After giving Oswald his address and exchanging an awkward goodbye, Ed hung up the phone and tried to stop his hands from twitching. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t. His other-self had flip-flopped his opinion on what Ed should do, he was now insisting Ed absolutely had to go out with Oswald because it would _totally_ work this time. He did that a lot, confusing Ed and making him think the opposite thing he wanted, or the opposite of that, or the opposite of—

“Shut _up_!” Ed spun around, slamming his hand on the coffee table and practically rattling the whole building. His other-self flickered out of existence, and Ed took a few long minutes to calm his breathing. 

“I’m going to go out with Oswald, and I’m not going to hurt him. I’m not going to.” And that was all it took to convince him. It was romantic, he thought, that he was so hopeful about his romances going successful, even after so many failed endeavors. He didn’t bother to consider the fact that the people he’d murdered after going on a date with them probably wouldn’t have thought it was very romantic. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a sharp knock on Ed’s door and his other-self took that moment to jump up and down excitedly, clapping his hands like a toddler who was promised ice cream. Ed glared at him, warning him to keep quiet even though Oswald wouldn’t be able to hear him, before opening the door.

The first thing he noticed upon opening the door was Oswald’s freckles. The second thing he noticed was the large paper bag he was holding in one hand, and the third thing he noticed was the smell of Chinese takeaway in the hallway. 

“Wha-”

“I met the delivery man in the hallway. He was heading to your apartment, so I thought I’d save him the steps. If I’d known you ordered takeout, I would’ve asked you to have dinner with me tomorrow,” Oswald smiled, holding out the bag. “We can move our outing back a day, I don’t mind.”

He took the bag slowly, his mouth opening and closing and opening and closing again as he tried to figure out what was happening. He hadn’t ordered food. Had he? He didn’t remember ordering food. Unless… Ed’s other-self must have. He wanted Oswald to have dinner in Ed’s apartment, so he’d hijacked Ed’s body and ordered food without Ed’s knowledge. No wonder he’d been feeling so out of it, he had half a mind to turn around and yell at his hallucination for doing this but figured it wasn’t a good first date impression. Finally, Ed remembered he should probably say something.

“No! Please, come in, and- we can eat here. If you want. Unless you don’t want to, or you don’t like Chinese food, or-” Ed’s stammering was stopped abruptly by Oswald stepping in the doorframe and shaking his head. 

“I’m thinking you might have planned this in order to get me in your apartment faster,” he teased.

_“Well, he’s not wrong,”_ Not-Ed shrugged from his corner. 

“I would do nothing of the sort!” Ed protested, setting the bag down on his small dining table and helping Oswald take off his fluffy coat. 

“I don’t know if I believe that, Edward,” Oswald said, looking up at Ed through his long lashes. 

“Well- you- you should. Because I’m nothing if not a man of honor,” Ed defended himself, pulling a chair out for Oswald and sitting down across from him.

_“What honor would that be, Eddie? Is killing your dates after you sleep with them and hiding riddles in their skulls part of the code of chivalry?”_

Ed ignored the voice, instead choosing to ask Oswald about his life and enjoy the mediocrity of the sweet and sour chicken. 

Oswald’s career was still mostly a mystery to him, despite pressing him about it and playing a very convoluted guessing game. Eventually, they somehow managed to end up on the couch, Ed having removed his sweater and shoes and Oswald struggling with his layers upon layers of clothing. A half-empty bottle of wine and two partially-full glasses sat next to them. Ed was giggling, he wasn’t drunk, a little tipsy though, and he was pulling at the buttons of Oswald’s waistcoat, Oswald smacking his hands away lightly, accusing him of trying to pop the buttons off of it.

The smacking of each other’s hands descended into a fit of giggling and hanging off each other, until eventually Ed was resting his head on Oswald’s shoulder, practically sitting on his lap with his arms wrapped around him. 

Oswald looked close to nodding off as Ed stared up at him, admiring his freckles and the way his hair stuck up at odd angles. 

“Hey. Hey hey hey hey,” Ed said suddenly, sitting up straight so his nose was almost touching Oswald’s. His arms moved from around Oswald’s sides to his hair, smoothing it out and fluffing it up again. “You can’t fall asleep when we haven’t even kissed yet.” 

Oswald blinked, eyelashes fluttering as a smile grew on his face. “Says who?” He traced a hand down Ed’s chest, watching as he shivered from the light touches. His hair was loose and curly, entirely different than it had been when Oswald had met him at the flower shop. 

“Me,” Ed grinned, booping Oswald’s nose. “And we’re in my apartment, so I must be right.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” Oswald closed the small amount of distance between them, draping his arms around Ed’s shoulders as they kissed. It was a slow, relaxing feeling, followed by a rush of warmth like standing outside of a sauna’s open door when Oswald deepened the kiss. It felt perfect, the way their bodies melded together to move even closer to each other, as close as possible. 

Ed wasn’t thinking, as his hands traveled lower, out of Oswald’s hair and down to his neck, he wasn’t thinking about the definition of insanity, about the whispers he was hearing in his mind. He wasn’t thinking about anything except the beautiful warmth that was kissing Oswald. 

Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. 

“Edward, wh-” Oswald broke the kiss when Ed’s hands moved to his throat, trying to push him back. Ed’s hands were around his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter, pushing into his skin like he’d done it a hundred times before. His eyes were glassy and distant, unfocused like he wasn’t aware of what he was doing. 

“Ed!” His voice was weak as he struggled to find breath. One of his arms left Ed’s shoulders, straining to reach his coat, finally managing to grab it. He twisted his fingers around the fabric, tugging it closer until he could reach the pocket. 

The next feeling that Ed experienced was a sudden, throbbing pain in his shoulder, and he was being pushed back, losing his balance on the couch and crashing backwards. His back hit something and he heard a crack, the sound of glass breaking, and everything went black.


	4. I've Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some mentions + depictions of violence in this chapter, Oswald and Ed have a highly romantic date (just kidding, its not that romantic, victor zsasz with a hammer third wheels)

“Who are you?”

The voice was sharp and sudden, and it was the first thing Ed registered as he became conscious again. He couldn’t see, maybe his eyes were closed, or there was something covering them? He tried to move his arms, to find out what was covering his eyes and a sharp pain coursed through his left shoulder, making him cry out hoarsely.

The darkness was suddenly ripped from his eyes and he flinched away, trying to focus on whatever was moving in front of him. 

“Who are you?” The voice repeated, and Ed blinked several times, trying to see in the dim light. His eyes focused on the person in the back of the room instead of the one talking, simply because they looked familiar. 

“Oswald?” Ed asked, again trying to move and grimacing in pain. 

There was a metallic thumping sound, like a hammer had been smashed into something. The pain was delayed, so it took several seconds for Ed to realize his finger had been smashed. “No, that’s his name. I asked who _you_ are.”

Ed’s vision became fuzzy again as he tried not to focus on the pain. 

“Victor, you’re going to knock him out again. I’d rather not have this drag out all night.” Oswald’s voice carried across the room, even with the ringing in Ed’s ears, but it didn’t quite sound right, more cold and commanding than how he spoke to Ed.

“Sorry boss,” the man, presumably Victor, muttered, and he seemed to take a step back. 

_Boss?_ Where the hell was he? 

“I’m Ed. Edward Nashton.”

“Well, that is what it says on your driver’s license. But, see, we’re having trouble believing that.” The man kneeled down until he was eye level with Ed, “I’m sure you understand our concern, it ain’t hard to get a fake license in Gotham, and you know, you try to kill our boss, so I did some digging. What do you think I found?”

Ed let out a slow breath from his nose, barely interpreting the words being said. The man in front of him was grinning like he was having the time of his life, and Ed looked away from him and over to Oswald again. “I don’t- I don’t know. That’s- that’s my name.”

Victor turned, looking back towards Oswald, who shrugged at him. Victor looked back at him. “I’ll give you one more chance to come clean about who you are before I smash your other hand.” He raised the hammer he was holding.

Despite Ed’s ardent protests and screams that he wasn’t hiding anything, that that was his _name_ , the hammer was still brought down on his other hand, and his resulting yell of pain practically shook the room. He breathed shallowly for a few long seconds before anyone made another sound.

“Alright, alright, you got me. I found nothing.” He shrugged. “Have to make sure you’re being honest, you know how it is in the mob.” 

_The mob?_

“So, tell us, Edward Nashton, if that is your real name-”

“It is!” Except for that brief stint at the carnival. Ed didn’t talk about that though. But he’d always enjoyed the air of mystery having a false name had given him. Maybe he’d go back to that old name. Minus the carnival tricks.

Ed received a warning glare at his adamant response. “ _If_ that is your real name, why did you try to kill the Penguin? Did someone put you up to it? Did you do it yourself for the glory?”

“Wha-” Oswald. The Penguin. Oswald Cobblepot. Notorious crime lord. Fucking _duh,_ Edward. “Oh my god.” Ed’s other-self appeared next to Oswald in the back of the room, snickering like he’d known this information all along and hadn’t bothered to tell Ed about it. Silence filled the room as Ed let that information sink in, although he still wasn’t entirely understanding why he was _here_. The last thing he remembered… was kissing Oswald on his couch. Had Oswald attacked him? Had something happened?

“ _Gee, what the hell do you think happened, Eddie?”_ His other-self rolled his eyes, and Ed fell out of his denial, realization crawling over him. He’d tried to kill Oswald. Of _course_ he had. 

“Boss, I gotta say, I don’t think he knew who you were,” Victor said, turning back to Oswald and casually waving his hammer around. 

“Then why did he try to kill me? He’s a run-of-the-mill psychopath? Great. Wonderful that that’s the type of person I attract.”

Ed grit his teeth, not appreciating being called that. Psychopath, maybe, but he was most certainly not ‘run-of-the-mill’. “I’m not.” 

Oswald stood from his chair at the edge of the otherwise empty room and walked towards Ed, leaning down so they were eye-level, bringing a hand up to grip his hair and force his head up. “Not what? Not a psychopath, or not a run-of-the-mill one?”

The pain was almost making him black out again, his eyes slipping shut and snapping open again as he tried to focus. “The… the second one,” he managed. 

“Really? And what makes you so damn special?” Oswald sounded almost intrigued, like he hadn’t expected Ed to so readily admit he was psychotic. 

Ed tilted his head up, locking eyes with his other-self before descending into a high pitched, manic fit of laughter which dissolved very quickly into a coughing fit. He spat up blood onto the concrete, shaking his head around like he was trying to dissuade flies from lying eggs in his eyes. 

“Five years,” he finally said, his voice raspy. He choked out another laugh, pulling himself up as far as he could. “Five years, and they don’t know a _thing_! Isn’t that funny?” 

Oswald looked to Victor, who shrugged, looking mildly interested to be in the presence of a psychotic break. 

“They don’t know a thing about what?” Oswald asked finally.

“ _Who I am_ ,” Ed breathed, watching in between peals of laughter as his hallucination methodically moved closer to him, flickering in and out of existence like a bad radio signal. 

“And who are you, Edward?”

“ _Tom Dougherty. Kristen Kringle. Carl Pinkney.”_

“Do you know he’s saying, boss?” Victor asked, leaning forward. Oswald shook his head, watching as Ed began laughing again. 

“ _Lucius Fox. Leonard-_ ” 

Oswald blinked, narrowing his eyes at Ed. “What? What about Lucius Fox?”

The laughter wasn’t stopping now, the entire room spinning around Edward in a green-yellow haze. “I left clues! I left so many! All those riddles! And you were all too _stupid_ to _understand them_! Looking too hard for the question marks to see the questions!” 

“Boss, what-”

Holding up a hand made Victor instantly shut up. “He’s the riddle killer.”

“Such a _stupid_ name, don’t you think? So _uncreative_ , so _blasé_. I could’ve thought of something _much_ better. More _snappy._ ”

“How do you-” Victor began, about to protest that Ed could be making this all up and could actually be a run-of-the-mill psychopath.

“He knows about the evidence the police never told anyone. The evidence they keep out of every report to prevent copycats,” Oswald said, his eyes still focused on Ed. “Where was it at the place Kristen Kringle’s body was found?”

Ed grinned, eyes rolling back in his head as he answered. “Tree branch. Skinned off until it got to the green insides. Carved it in.”

“And where was it found at the site of Lucius Fox’s body, Edward?”

A beat of silence, as if Ed had sucked in a breath of toxic air and couldn’t push it out, until the words tumbled out of his mouth like he physically couldn’t hold them back. “ _In. In_ his body. He put flowers on his heart. _I put flowers on his heart. Bells of Ireland, a question mark on his heart. A question made of good fortune and luck._ ” 

“Why? Why do you do this?”

“Do you know…” Ed gasped, feeling his other-self loosen control on his words. “Do you know… Oswald… what Albert Einstein said was the definition of insanity?” His sight finally felt clear enough to stare back at Oswald’s intense gaze.

Oswald blinked in surprise, whether it was from the sudden change of tone, the fact Ed had said his name, or the odd question posed, Ed wasn’t sure. 

“He said… the definition of insanity. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing… over and over again, and expecting different results. Over and over again. Twenty-four times. Twenty-five times. Twenty-six-”

“Edward. Edward, what different result are you expecting?” 

Ed’s eyes drooped, closing as his shoulders fell forward. Oswald snapped his fingers in front of his face. Ed hummed, breathing heavily. “Expecting… something different. An _enigma_.” He let out a small chuckle like he’d just made a brilliant joke that wasn’t worth explaining. 

Oswald sighed in frustration, snapping his fingers to keep Ed’s attention again. “Yes, you said that, but _what_? _What_ different thing? What enigma?” 

“Not… to not… let him hurt them. You. All of them.” 

“Him?”

Ed nodded his head towards the back of the room, staring at the shadowy, flickering figure of his other-self. Oswald turned towards where he was staring before looking back at Ed, tilting his head in confusion. “Edward, there’s nothing there.”

He shook his head, a hollow laugh that was really more of a choke falling from his throat as he spoke. “He’s always there. I think he won’t be, but he’s always there. Always.” 

“What does he look like, Edward?” 

“ _Me._ He looks like me. He is me. _He’s_ the enigma. Stronger, better. Crueler.”

Oswald was silent for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and looking down at the ground. “Victor. Take off his restraints.”

“Boss-”

“ _Now._ ”

Victor nodded, quickly pulling Ed’s arms up and untying the ropes around his arms, then moving to his ankles before stepping back. 

“Thank you. Now leave us alone.”


	5. Found The Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now,,, it’s over.

There wasn’t a plan of any sort in play, or at least, Oswald hadn’t formed one yet, he was still working on it. There was, however, the potential for a plan. He had the most notorious serial killer in Gotham, someone who had evaded capture for over half a decade, dancing circles around the Gotham police and criminal empire alike. The question, of course, was what to do about that. He could trade Edward to the GCPD for basically anything he wanted, but of course, after a month, a year, however long, Jim Gordon would find a way to back out of that deal. Whatever Oswald asked for, Gordon would eventually ruin it for him. So that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t give Edward away, turn him in to whoever and and expect a lasting reward.

On the other hand… having an infamous, genius serial killer in his debt seemed like a wonderful opportunity. The only problem with this idea was, of course, the fact that said serial killer was entirely unstable and unpredictable, making him untrustworthy. Although, unstable and unpredictable described about everyone in Oswald’s employ, as well as Oswald himself.

So the answer was decided, right there in his dingy wine cellar, staring at the man who, until four hours ago, had been an innocent (albeit cute) stranger who owned a flower shop and wore too much green. Oswald would be letting him go, to an extent. He could go back to his life in a few weeks, once Victor had figured out what made him tick, per se. Victor was highly skilled at that, as long as he didn’t go too far and accidentally break Edward’s psyche more than it already had been. Before any of that happened, Oswald had to make sure he and Edward were on the same page, which was why he knelt down on the dirty ground, flinching at the roughness of the concrete, and stared up at Edward, waiting for him to move.

“Can…” Ed twitched, his arms not obeying him when he tried to move. “Can you tell me. What. Is going on? Oswald?”

Odd that Oswald still liked the sound of his voice, the way he said Oswald’s name. “Let me get you cleaned up first. Then we can talk about what we’re doing with you.” He reached to the shelf on the wall, pulling a first aid kit off it that looked like it had seen better days, and that those better days had been when Nixon was president.

“Give me your hand.”

Edward twitched again, not making eye contact with Oswald. “Which one?”

Oswald shrugged, pulling out some sort of disinfectant and gauze. “Zsasz smashed both of them, didn’t he?” He held out his hand expectantly.

It took several attempts before Ed was able to successfully move his arm and he made a small sound of pain as he did so, and an even louder one when Oswald roughly grabbed his hand and began cleaning the mess of blood up.

“Victor loves hammers. Not as much as pliers, though. You should be glad I convinced him not to pull anything off of you. Yet, at least.

“Although, you probably don’t need all your toes. And surprisingly, toe amputations seem much more painful than any other sort. Of course, it varies depending on the person,” Oswald said conversationally as he wrapped up Ed’s hand and made a gesture to see the other one.

Ed didn’t answer, staring down at Oswald as he wrapped up his hands with more care than he would’ve expected after the events of the day. Especially considering the events of what he assumed was probably yesterday, when he’d tried to kill Oswald.

“I’m sure you would know, we all have our preferences. I’m always a fan of clubs and baseball bats, but you, you use your hands, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he continued. “I can respect that. It makes it more personal, although the desecration of the corpses, the public displays you make of them, I’ve never understood the appeal. Unless you’re sending a message, of course, but after one or two, it looses its pizazz, not as intimidating. I suppose that’s why you change it up every time. Sometimes you take organs, but them back in the wrong places, peel up the skin, cut them up into tiny pieces. How long does it take you to do all that? Including the riddles? And the question marks, of course.”

“Usually a full night. Sometimes two. If they’re special,” Ed responded finally. His voice was hoarse and he coughed, making his head ache. During the silence before Oswald said anything else, Ed was able to examine, understand, and categorize everything that was currently happening and how he felt about it. He wasn’t scared, not anxious about being caught, he was more… exhilarated. Not necessarily by being caught, but because it was Oswald Cobblepot who had caught him, and decided not to instantly kill or turn him in. That must mean something. Oswald needed him—or wanted him—for something. That was the exhilarating part, that someone so twisted and powerful could possibly care enough about him to keep him alive and take care of his injuries (even if they had been inflicted on his orders) for him. He wanted to know why, what Oswald had planned.

“Was Lucius Fox special?”

Ed’s hand twitched under Oswald’s tight grip, like he was subconsciously trying to get away. He blinked as he stumbled out of his reverie, repeating the question in his mind. He’d spent so long convincing himself he hadn’t killed Lucius Fox, he wouldn’t, he loved him like when he’d convinced himself Miss Kringle’s death had been an accident. Now, however, he was aware of what he’d done, the memories of arranging Lucius’ body in the floral fridge settling into his mind like they’d always been there. He must’ve pushed them into his subconscious, one last ditch attempt to convince himself he wasn’t a horrible person, he was capable of love.

“No. I thought he was.” Ed should accept who he was. He might be capable of love, but he wasn’t capable of controlling his darkest impulses, not for anyone. Not for Lucius, and not even for Oswald Cobblepot, apparently.

“Would I have been special?” Oswald looked up into Ed’s eyes.

Ed stared back, tilting his head down. “No,” he responded honestly. “But you are now.” He would postpone killing Oswald for as long as his alternate self would allow him, he was too interesting to kill. Too understanding of who Edward was to lose so quickly. He was the first person Edward had ever met, and likely the only person, who would potentially accept him for who he was, darkest sides and all.

“You’re still planning on killing me?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I have an intrinsic responsibility to fulfill every single thing I’ve started exactly the way I’ve planned it. I’m predictable like that.” He could’ve said more about how he didn’t want to, how wonderful it was to talk about things like this out loud, to another real person. “Anything I do is intricately planned out and every possible outcome is analyzed.” For the most part, the actual act of killing was never consciously planned, but the hiding of the body, the wild goose chase for the police detectives, that was meticulously planned. Oswald, however, was different, solely because Edward had failed to kill him the first time. He’d have to try again, and keep trying until he’d completed his goal. It was how he operated. He didn’t particularly want to, he just… did.

“And what will you do with my body?” Oswald asked curiously, letting Ed’s hand go now that it was wrapped up and standing up, stepping back.

There was a long silence as Ed’s eyes scanned across Oswald, tracing the entirety of his figure almost reverently. “Love it. Worship it. Keep it with me forever.”

Oswald took a long breath in, momentarily forgetting how to exhale as he watched Edward, letting him stand up, walk forward. Close the small space between them. “And how…” he breathed out, licking his lips. “How do you plan on keeping me forever?”

A smile grew on Ed’s face as he brushed his hand against Oswald’s arm, up to his shoulder, down his back. “First, I’ll make sure you know exactly how much you mean to me.” He ran his other arm up and down Oswald’s sides, then across his collarbone, smearing some of his blood onto his skin. “Then I think I’ll hold you close like this, while I squeeze your throat until I hear something crack,” he said, leaning further forward, his voice lowering as he whispered in Oswald’s ear.

“Not-” Oswald’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Not incredibly creative, is- is that?”

Ed laughed, making a nonchalant shrugging gesture. “After that, I’ll freeze you, keep you safe and protected, inside of your own personal iceberg.”

“And… what about the… riddle? And the question mark?”

Shaking his head, Ed brushed his chin across Oswald’s shoulder, nearly causing him to fall over and/or forget how to breathe when Ed licked the stripe of blood off Oswald’s collarbone. “I don’t need one. I don’t want anyone to get you except me. I tried to keep them from finding Lucius, but it wasn’t meant to be, I didn’t try hard enough. But I will never let you out of my sight.”

“Would I be your last?”

“Of course.”

“And when will all this happen?” Oswald asked, finally remembering how to move and wrapping an arm around Ed’s neck.

“As soon as I have the opportunity.” Ed’s eyes flashed as he looked up. “Unless you’re the enigma I’ve been looking for,” he whispered, slipping his eyes shut and brushing his lips against Oswald’s, waiting for a response, which was quickly given in the form of being pulled closer and kissed with enough ferocity to make his head spin.

It wasn’t the wisest decision Edward had ever made, and his other self had several questions, namely he could pull a knife on you right now, what are you doing? His questions, comments, and concerns were quickly drowned out by the white noise in Ed’s ears as he and Oswald tumbled onto the concrete floor in an awkward and altogether rather undignified manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But good news I’m writing an entirely different au in which Ed is also a serial killer so. fun times. watch out for that comin to you live within. idk a couple weeks or so.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @kaijuvenom


End file.
